


dog days

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: George turns into a dog when he gets stressed. As coping mechanisms go, it could be worse.





	dog days

**1st April 2016**

**Bath 10 - Saracens 30**

 

The loss was brutal, but not entirely unexpected. The team traipsed off the field with bowed heads and slumped shoulders. It was a microcosm of their season, all things considered. A bright start, then fading into insignificance by the end. The chances of a sixth-place finish and Champions Cup qualification were looking less likely by the day. Silently showering and dressing, the heavy mood of the locker room was broken by an insistent scratching sound. The players looked at each other, eyes wide. "You're not telling me we've got rats, on top of that game?" Francois asked, voice thick with sarcasm and worry.

They all stared at the wall where the sound was coming from. Finally, Stuart stood up. "This is just because I'm captain, okay, I'd never normally . . ." He walked to the showers and trailed off.

"What is it?" Francois called.

Stuart laughed nervously. "Come and see for yourself - I think I might be hallucinating." Francois beckoned to Banahan and Garvey and walked round the corner to see Stuart crouched next to what was most definitely . . . 

A dog. A really small, black and white dog. It was cowering in the corner of the showers and whimpering. At Stuart's gesture, they stepped back to assess the situation. "So, lads, any input here? It doesn't have a collar or anything, and I can't see how it got in here." Stuart asked.

They all shrugged, and Garvey said, "None of the boys have dogs like this, do they? Because they'd know how to deal with it." The dog whined and backed itself further into the corner.

"Fordy has that pug, doesn't he? We should get him in here." Banahan suggested. "A tiny dog is a tiny dog - it can't be that different." He went out to find George, while Stuart, Francois and Garvey debated what to do next.

"We should probably tell the coaches," Garvey said finally. "I know Mike's not here because of that thing up in Wigan, but Darren should know about it."

"I agree," Stuart said. "After all, it's a flipping dog. In the locker room. It's kind of important."

Banahan reentered, biting his lip. "Guys, I can't find George. He's not in there, the physios haven't seen him and he isn't answering his phone."

Garvey snickered. "Well, it's Saracens. He's probably with Farrell somewhere. You know how they are." The dog let out a pleased yip at the mention of the fly half. "Huh. Of course the dog that randomly appeared in our showers is a Saracens fan. Murphy's law, honestly."

Banahan didn't look convinced. "Yeah, but do you really want me to ask if they've seen one of our players because we've lost him? I'll look like an idiot."

Stuart hummed. "It couldn't hurt, Matt. If you could do that, I'll tell Darren while Francois and Garvs fill in the team." They all nodded.

Banahan was heading towards the visitors' locker room, cursing his luck, when there was a clicking noise behind him. He turned and groaned. "No, dog, go back!" He flapped his hands encouragingly. "Go on, back to the boys. We can't lose you too." Unfortunately, the dog was either stubborn or stupid, and kept following him. He approached the door with trepidation, hearing the raucous celebrations of the Saracens. The dog leant against his leg and pointed its nose towards the door. Banahan smiled at its hopeful eyes and knocked twice on the door.

It swung open immediately, revealing Brits, Burger and Rhodes. He was suddenly lost for words in the face of the Saracens' Springboks. He opened his mouth to speak when he heard the dog's claws skittering on the floor and its joyful barking. It was now standing in the centre of the room, tail wagging manically. It looked oddly comfortable under the gaze of twenty grown men muttering ominously. 

Banahan swallowed. "Two things, sorry. First, this dog appeared in our locker room and we don't know where it came from. And, uh . . ." His throat was dry. "We've kind of lost George Ford . . ?" The South African posse frowned and crossed their arms, eerily coordinated, but their criticisms were postponed by a loud "Georgie!" and the dog's ecstatic barking. "Hey, buddy," the voice continued. Banahan peered around the scowling trio to see Owen Farrell, clearly fresh from the shower, crouched next to the dog and scratching its neck. The dog jumped at Farrell's bare chest and he laughed as it licked him.

"Hey, Matt," Farrell said, standing up with the dog in his arms. "Do you want to talk outside?" Banahan nodded uncertainly. Was it Farrell's dog? Was that why he was so pleased to see it? After the Saracen had grabbed a shirt, they walked around a corner and Farrell sat down on the floor, letting the dog climb over his lap. 

"This isn't some April Fool's Day trick, is it?" Banahan blurted out.

"What? God, no. We'd never do that." The dog barked, demanding attention until Farrell started petting him again. "So, I don't really know how to explain it, but . . . God, this sounds weird." Farrell said. "Basically, this dog is George. He turns into a Jack Russell when he's really stressed or scared."

Banahan bit back a laugh. This was beyond surreal. "So if I ask him some questions, he'll answer?"

"I don't see why not."

"Okay, um, Fordy. Bark once for yes, twice for no. Your name is George Ford." One sharp bark. "You play for Bath." Another bark. "I have no tattoos." The dog - George - barked twice and scrambled off Farrell's lap to paw at Banahan's neck and ribs. "Okay, I believe you, Fordy."

At that moment, Stuart and Darren Edwards appeared. "Farrell," Stuart said coolly. "Do you know what's going on?" 

He blinked at the hostility in Stuart's voice. "I was just explaining to Banahan-"

Stuart turned to the man in question. "Matt, what's happening?"

Banahan looked at the floor. "It's a bit complicated - I don't-"

"Spit it out, Matt," Darren said. "I need to know what's happened to George."

Farrell intervened. "Sir, it's honestly fine. It's just - have you ever heard of people turning into animals when they experience heightened emotions? It's not very common in the UK, but the South Africans on my team all grew up with it. You could ask Louw about it."

Stuart frowned. "So . . . That dog is George? That's what you're saying?"

"I guess he never told you about it, but he's always done this." Farrell nodded.

Stuart crouched down in front of the dog and offered it his hand. "Sorry, Fordy, I didn't know. And you can always talk to me, yeah?" The dog gently butted its head against his hand and he smiled in relief.

"Okay, gentlemen, I'm glad we got this straightened out," Darren shot a glare at Farrell when he snorted, "but where he is he going to stay? We can't leave him on his own." He ran a hand through his hair.

"I know that Guy has dogs, but his wife won't be best pleased if they wake up the baby when they arrive." Stuart mused. George whined. "Erm . . . Maybe JJ and Anthony? There's two of them - they can't mess up too badly." George huffed and pushed his head into Owen's chest. "I mean, I'll take him if there's no other options." Stuart finished. George barked sharply and tugged on the sleeve of Owen's shirt. "Oh! Oh." Stuart said. "Do you want to go with Farrell, George?" The dog yapped happily. "I don't think hotels allow dogs, though-" He was cut off by George growling and pawing at Owen's pockets.

"What is it, mate?" Farrell felt through his pockets. "Oh - my key? It's in my kit bag, if you want." George dipped his head in an exaggerated nod. "Okay, then." Farrell looked up the Bath players surrounding him and flushed. "He wants to go home with me, I think."

Darren frowned. "To London? I'm sorry, but that's too far. What if he gets lost?"

Farrell blushed even more. "I meant, I have a key to George's house, so I can take him there and feed Sky too."

"Are you sure?" Banahan stared at him curiously. "Won't your team want you to stay at their hotel?"

Farrell laughed quietly as George licked his knee. "No, it'll be fine. I think they're almost expecting me to stay at George's by now."

"If you say so . . ." Banahan sounded unconvinced.

Stuart stepped in. "I'm sure it will be fine, Matt. Darren, is it okay with you?" The coach nodded. "Owen, thank you. I can give you a lift if you want."

"I've got George's spare car key, but thanks anyway."

Stuart and Darren shook Owen's hand before heading back to their locker room. Banahan hesitated for a moment, watching George rub his back against Owen's shins. "I suppose I should say congratulations, guys. I mean, you're good for each other."

Owen looked up at him and smiled. George's ears pricked up. "Thanks, Banahan. Just - don't tell anyone, please? Maybe one day, but not right now."

Banahan knelt to pat George on the head once more, then walked away. "You can pick up his stuff from our locker room in a few, Farrell."

Owen stood up, knees protesting. "Is that what you were scared about, Georgie? Because he seems cool with it." George let out a subdued whine. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I guess one guy isn't a whole team, but starting small is always a good plan." He ruffled George's fur. "You can come back in, Georgie, while I get dressed properly, or you can wait here." The dog batted a paw against Owen's calf, so he grinned and held the door open. Unsurprisingly, everyone else had finished changing and was sitting in groups, talking. When the door creaked open, every Saracen's head swivelled towards Owen and George.

"Found your boy then, Faz?" Vunipola called.

"Yeah - he just can't get enough of me," Owen shot back. The rest of the room laughed, appeased, and Owen walked to his locker unhindered.

He was mostly changed, George waiting by his feet, when Brits shuffled along the bench to sit next to him. "Ford, I'm sorry about that tackle in the second half, so if that's what caused this . . ." He offered his hand to the Jack Russell in apology. George barked twice and licked Brits' hand.

Owen laughed and pulled his hoodie over his head. "That's him saying that it wasn't you, but thanks anyway."

Brits looked intrigued. "Can I ask what triggered it, then? For us in South Africa, it has to be an extreme situation."

Owen rubbed George's head. "He's not out to his team yet, but he was going to tell them tonight and then the game was shit for them, and now we're here."

The forward nodded slowly. "Better luck next time, Ford - and look after Faz for us." He patted them both on the head and walked off.

Owen finished cramming everything into his kit bag. "Come on, mate, let's get your stuff and go home." George trotted over to the door and waited for Owen to open it. "Aww, you're so short that you can't even reach the door handle," Owen cooed. George growled and gently scratched Owen's leg. "Fine, no size jokes. Take me to your locker room?" George barked and hurried ahead, tail wagging. Owen smiled fondly.

They rambled through the corridors of the Rec until they reached Bath's locker room. George nosed at the door and slowly pushed it open. The kit bag was sitting on the bench in the empty room, and George rushed up to it and dragged it towards Owen, despite being almost half its size. "Thanks, mate," Owen bent over to pick up the bag. But George's teeth were still fastened around the strap and it devolved into a game of tug-of-war. Several minutes later, Owen conceded at last and let George pull the bag along the floor. It was lucky that there weren't many other people around; it could have been hard to explain.

They finally got to George's car, George having abandoned the bag in favour of hiding under Owen's jacket to avoid the rain. "D'you want to sit in the front, Georgie?" Owen asked, putting the bag on the back seat. George yipped softly and allowed Owen to position him in the footwell of the passenger seat. The older man carefully closed the door: if he injured George, the Bath players would be out for revenge and they would know exactly where to find him. He climbed into the driver's seat of the Land Rover - sponsorship deals, honestly - and checked if George was still secure. Then he drove home, to George's modest two-up, two-down house on the fringes of the city.

Once he'd parked, he let George out and unlocked the door. He paused. "I really missed you, Georgie, you know. I didn't want to pressure you into anything, either." George pressed his head against Owen's calf and he felt partially reassured. Then Sky bounded round the corner and leapt on to George, playfully licking his face. Once the pug had recovered from the excitement of meeting a new dog, they moved to the kitchen. "I suppose you guys want feeding," Owen said. He went to the usual cupboard and poured some dog food into two dishes and set it in front of the dogs. He filled two more bowls with water and placed them on the floor too.

Owen sat at the kitchen table and watched his boyfriend and their dog eating. Not even five years before, still an insecure teenager, he'd accepted never having the family life that he truly wanted. But now, this - this was everything and more. George padded over to him and pawed at his knees, asking to be picked up. Owen cradle the small dog to his chest. "How's it going, Georgie? I'm going to have to sleep soon, but I can leave the bedroom door open for you and Sky." George snuggled into Owen's arms in response and yawned, light glinting off his canines. "Okay, I'll let you out, wash up and then we can go to bed."

Soon, Owen was stretched out under the covers of George's twin bed with the dogs curled into the curve of his body. He turned the light off, and for a second he could still see the soft gleam of George's eyes in the darkness. Content in the presence of his family, Owen drifted off to sleep.

He woke several times in the night, heart jumping each time as he imagined George's human form nestled against him on the bed. But every time, it was just the dogs' breathing or the rustling of the sheets. Then the sun was rising, and Owen had no excuse to slip back into sleep again. He got up and pulled a Saracens hoodie on over his shorts, yawning. He sent a quick text to the team's group chat ( **He hasn't turned back yet but we're fine** ) and made breakfast.

The dogs were soon woken by the smell of frying bacon, which Owen reluctantly shared with them: dog food was invented for a reason, after all. When they had finished, the dogs pulled Owen outside for their walk. The fog was rising over the hills surrounding Bath, and the sun illuminated it in a soft, yellow light. With the smell of damp grass and bird calls floating across the fields, it was like an isolated, peaceful bubble.

They wandered through the grass for another twenty minutes, until Sky showed signs of flagging. Owen carefully picked her up, ignoring George's pitiful whines (only one of them wasn't a professional athlete, and it wasn't him). George trailed at Owen's heels, grumbling deep in his chest. The older man turned to look at the dog and couldn't help laughing. Somewhere along the path, he must have walked straight through a puddle, covering himself with muddy water and obscuring almost all the white patches on his coat. Owen snickered. George hated baths as a dog - ironic, really - but now there was no alternative.

"Come on, guys, you need a wash," Owen said, herding them up the stairs to the bathroom. Sky wriggled around in the water happily enough, but George was cowering away from the bath. "Okay, mate, how about I dip you in?" George did the dog equivalent of an eye roll and trudged over to Owen. "There we go, Georgie," Owen said, carefully lowering the dog into the water. But as soon as his stomach touched the water, George was yelping and thrashing wildly, getting water everywhere. In one particularly vigorous twist, George's paw scraped across Owen's wrist and drew blood. Owen let go in surprise and George fell into the shallow water. The betrayed howl echoed around the room and Owen abandoned his cut in favour of fishing George out of the bath.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Owen apologised. George turned away resentfully and shook himself, scattering water all across the walls, the floor and Owen. He groaned. "George, you twit - are you doing this because you don't have to clean up?" The dog huffed in amusement. "Fine. I'll dry Sky - because she has some manners - and then come to play with you." George sat by the door, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and watched Owen rub Sky down with a towel. Once that was done, George ran up to Owen, still crouched on the floor, and launched himself into his chest. Owen squawked. "Come on, Georgie - now my shirt's all wet and I'm bleeding. Come down, mate." He stripped off his shirt and George licked his chest in apology.

After lunch, Owen logged on to the computer and emailed the Saracens coaching team to update them on the circumstances. After a moment of consideration, he copied Hooper into the email too. Mark replied after ten minutes, telling him to take the morning off and drive up for the afternoon gym session. Owen opened the attachment to see the tape that the rest of the team would be reviewing on the next day. He waited for George and Sky to fall asleep before starting to watch the replays from the game.

After half an hour, George was awake again and sleepily climbing into Owen's lap. "Hi, Georgie," Owen said, rubbing the top of his head. "I love you a lot, you know? I don't say it much, but I don't want you to stress about doing something for me when I don't support you enough." George pushed his head further into the crook of Owen's arms, which he took as a signal to keep talking. "Mark told me to take tomorrow morning off, so I can be here until about eleven, and then I'll drive back to London . . . If that's okay with you?" The dog grunted. "Thanks, Georgie."

They stayed like that for a while, until Sky dragged George away to play again. Owen threw a ball for them for a few minutes before going inside to start his rehab stretches. He was just finishing a set of lunges when George barrelled through the door and straight into Owen's leg, pushing him off balance so he toppled over. "Come here, you," Owen grumbled from where he was sprawled on the floor. George stood barely out of arm's reach and wagged his tail happily. Owen rolled onto his front and started crawling towards George. "Are you going to run away now, Georgie?" he taunted the dog. George didn't move so Owen stretched out his arms to grab him, but ended up falling flat on his face as the dog darted away. "Sabotage!" he yelled, pushing himself upright. George barked loudly and Owen ran towards him. But again the dog scampered away and Owen gave chase. Finally, he pinned George down on their bed.

"Are you going to change back soon, buddy?" Owen asked, lifting George into his lap. He barked twice, quietly and with a touch of sadness. "Is there someone you want to talk to? Because I could call-" George nudged his chest and barked. Owen stroked along the dark fur on George's back before replying. "Okay? Well, like I said earlier, I love you, and I'm not going anywhere, even if you keep turning into a dog. This is serious for me, even if it isn't for you, so." He stopped. "God, is that the problem? Am I too serious about this?" George huffed and shook his head. "Right . . . Was it about coming out? Because I get that it's tough, especially with all the new players on the team." George whined and burrowed into the folds of Owen's hoodie.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry for pressurising you like that. I'll back off, yeah? On your own terms, in your own time, like me with Sarries." George barked softly. "That's fine, Georgie, but please try to tell me before it gets to this stage next time, hmm?" George barked once more, quieter this time. "Thank you, George, I appreciate it. Anyway, do you want another nap, mate? Running around after you wore me out." George didn't move, so Owen stretched out on the mattress, closed his eyes and fell asleep to the gentle yapping of the dogs.

When he woke up, the room was strangely empty and silent. "George?" he called. "Sky?"

"In here," a distinctly human voice replied. Owen sprinted down the stairs to the living room, where George was reading a book on the sofa.

"Oh my God, Georgie, you're back!" Owen went to hug George, but, remembering George's earlier admissions, stopped himself and stood awkwardly by his boyfriend.

"Sit down, babe - I won't bite, honest." George patted the space next to him. Once Owen was settled, he spoke again. "Thanks for looking after us, Owen. I really appreciate it." His forehead creased. "Are you okay, though? It wasn't really fair on you . . ." 

Owen twisted to face George. "I enjoyed this, mate - it was kind of refreshing, you know? And I like being told to spend time with my boyfriend instead of reviewing tape with the lads." 

George laughed and kissed him. "I'm sorry for unloading on you like that, too. I wasn't actually nervous until a few minutes before the game, which is why I didn't tell you. I heard Wilson saying some horrible homophobic stuff when we were about to go on to the pitch, which freaked me out.

Owen hugged George tightly. "I'm sorry, Georgie."

"And then the game was so awful for us and I could tell that the team wasn't happy with me, so I sent to the showers to try to calm down, and - boom! I turned into a dog." He grimaced. "I'm glad you were there, though. It would have been so much worse otherwise."

Owen leaned in for a deeper kiss. "Thanks for telling me, Georgie."

"Thanks for looking after me, babe. I love you, but I'm not ready to tell the team yet."

"I'm still proud of you, mate. Anyway, I'll just set the South Africans on Wilson next time we play you, and then it should be okay."

George laughed. "Your guys don't need to get involved - I'll tell Francois and he can sort him out. I think he thinks o, his second child, by this point!" He pushed Owen backwards into the couch and straddled him. "Besides, I have a better idea of what to do now - something that doesn't involve dogs, homophobes or South Africans. You up for it?"

Owen smiled into the kiss. "Always."

**Author's Note:**

> And lo and behold, Davey Wilson signed with Newcastle Falcons and Francois didn't have to fight him.
> 
> Also, George looks like this: http://ollietherottweiler.tumblr.com/post/159174874924


End file.
